


Lo Siento, Mi Amor

by NeyMessi_FCB (Sherlockophobia)



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Angst, Car Accidents, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Physical Therapy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 13:00:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19229626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlockophobia/pseuds/NeyMessi_FCB
Summary: He wasn't supposed to be the only one to survive. Hell, he wasn't supposed to be in an accident at all. It was a simple drive to Madrid to cheer on his old teammates and close friends as they took on Real Madrid. Neymar didn't expect to be in a roll over accident when they were struck by another vehicle, let alone having to go through a year of physical therapy in order to be able to function on his own again. Was his career over?





	Lo Siento, Mi Amor

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I'm back to writing soccer RPF. :) Hope you enjoy! I'll add characters as I go along, like usual.

It was just a game. That’s all it was supposed to be. He was heading to Madrid with a group of friends to watch Barçelona play Real Madrid and everything was supposed to be _ok_. They were going to get there, sit in the stadium, and support their favourite players. The squeal of the tires, the explosive sound of a collision, the vehicle rolling and rolling and just not stopping until it did. He was upside down, only being held in place by his seat belt, and there was so much blood dripping into his eyes that he couldn’t see his friends. There was a god awful smell that burned his nostrils and he coughed forcefully, trying to expel the dust from the airbags that deployed. His voice didn’t sound like it belonged to him and he wasn’t sure if he was screaming loud enough because no one was coming to help and no one in the car was responding. He considered if he felt pain, but there wasn’t anything telling him his life was in danger, so he was slightly comforted by that. Swallowing, he managed to turn his head to the right to shake his friend Julio who was sitting beside him before the accident. The younger man wasn’t responding. _Fuck_. He gagged when he realized half of his friend’s face was gone. He forced his eyes shut and begged God to save him, protect him from whatever just happened. All he was supposed to do was watch a game.

He was in and out of consciousness, trying to force himself to stay awake because somewhere deep within him said it would be worse if he slept. But the seat belt was beginning to feel comfortable and if he closed his eyes for a moment, he might feel better. A dull burn radiated across his scalp and he groaned softly, wondering what it could be. He didn't want to open his eyes to find out. Everything was silent. No one was coming for him. No one noticed he was missing. No one wondered about his friends or why they didn't show up to the game. Maybe they thought he was a flake. It was getting dark outside and he was certain no one would find him at this point. He was going to die alone. Why was no one talking? He couldn't process the situation. All he wanted was to sleep, his body and mind were exhausted. A low siren was blaring from somewhere down the road, but he couldn't make it out. He wasn't quite sure why he was hearing that noise, but he was hopeful. 

He wanted to reach his eyes to rub off the blood in order to see who was touching him, but he couldn't move. Someone was slipping something around his neck and he choked back a shout of panic, forcing himself to see who was there. A voice was talking to him and he couldn't make out the words, yet the flashing colourful lights made him assume help had arrived. He must have passed out because he didn't remember someone getting into the car with him. More voices. He swallowed and exclaimed with a sharp yelp of surprise as he was cut from the seat belt. It was hard to move his head, something was preventing him from turning his neck. He frowned and pawed at the object under his chin and realised it was one of those collars that people with broken spines had. An involuntary shudder raced down his body and he felt his stomach churn and coil. People removed him from the car and he was placed on a hard board before being loaded into the back of another vehicle. He still wasn't able to move. Once he noticed he was in the back of an ambulance, he allowed himself to fall asleep, wincing slightly at the feeling of something sharp entering his arm. 

When he awoke, he found himself lying in a hospital bed with the collar still around his neck. He was alone, but only for a moment, before a few nurses and one doctor swarmed his room. “How are you feeling, sir?” Someone asked and he frowned, wanting to bite back sarcastically. 

“It hurts,” He sighed and closed his eyes, wishing people would leave him alone.

“That’s understandable, Dr. Jimenez had to perform surgery on your head to relieve some pressure and swelling from your brain.” The overly kind woman said, walking around to check the level of the saline in his IV bag.

He glanced at her adjusting something on a machine nearby, “What happened? I don’t remember much.”

“You were in a car accident, Mr. Santos. I’m sorry, you were the only survivor.” She said, offering a frown in his direction.

He blinked at the words, unable to process what she said, before he began laughing. “Must be some kind of joke. My friends are fine,” 

“I’m so sorry.” She replied and saw herself out of the room. Others followed suit and he was alone again.

It took a minute for him to understand what she said and when he did, a loud sob racked his body. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He couldn’t be the only one alive! How the fuck did that happen?! Oh God, oh God. This was unreal. He was probably dreaming, all he had to do was go back to sleep and when he woke up, he’d be in his bed, safe at home and everyone would be ok. He was shaking, trembling, and it was becoming hard for him to breathe appropriately. He thrashed on the hospital bed for a moment as his cries took hold of his body. Tears and mucous ran down his face at an unbreakable speed and he paused a few times to cough, gagging at the force of his coughs. Everything inside of him felt like it was being slowly ripped apart, his chest ached beyond belief, and he couldn’t bring himself to calm down. Some alarm began screaming from next to him and yet again, people swarmed his room. They tried to shush him, to get him to relax, but all he wanted to do was struggle and fight against anyone attempting to touch him. They threatened restraints, but his mind was too far gone to care about what they did. Cries kept echoing throughout the hospital room until he slowly lost consciousness again a few minutes after a new nurse pushed some type of medication into his IV. 

“Neymar.” A new voice woke him a few hours later and he sighed, opening one eye to see who was in the room with him. He hoped it wasn’t another nurse.

Blurry eyed, he managed to make out a shorter figure with pale skin and a reddish-brown beard. The man had a tattoo sleeve on his right arm while the other one was bare. Messi. “Leo,” He rasped, attempting to wake himself up so he could see what was going on.  
Neymar felt the sadness radiating from the older Argentinian man, which caused him to choke back a sob. “Ney,” Leo whispered, approaching the bed and gently sitting beside him. 

Lionel reached over slowly and wiped a few stray tears from the Brazilian’s face, sighing and carding his hand through his friend’s brown locks. “They’re all dead.” Neymar said nonchalantly as he felt his body going numb to the emotions he was feeling.

“I know, amorcito, I know.” He could hear the pain in Leo’s voice and it made him all the more depressed. 

“Why?” 

“I don’t know.”

“Why am _I_ alive and not them?” 

“Deus has a plan.” The words were supposed to be comforting, but all Neymar could do was resent the statement. 

Neymar crumpled up the sheets in his fists and blinked back tears, allowing himself to look over at Lionel. It was either the medication he was on or Lionel was exceptionally handsome in the lighting of the hospital room. He felt something stir in his stomach and he grumbled, not wanting to make anything awkward. Leo stayed with him the rest of the night, talking to him about the game and how he assisted Rakitić with the first goal of the game. FC Barçelona won 2-0 and Neymar had to wonder if Real Madrid was losing their touch after Cristiano Ronaldo was transferred to Juventus. He noticed that whenever star players weren’t there, like Leo, Cristiano, or himself, teams played poorly. It was as if they didn’t know how to play fútbol any more. God, he hated that cocky son-of-a-bitch, though, but at least he didn’t have to see him as often as he did when he was playing for Barçelona. Paris Saint Germain hadn’t played Juventus this season and he wasn’t sure if they were going to play them at all this year. Copa America was coming up again and all he wanted to do was play, especially since it was being hosted by his home country, Brazil. 

“I can’t wait to play in Copa America,” He mused, expressing his thoughts to Messi.

There was a long pause before the Argentinian answered him, “Look Ney, I don’t think you’re going to be playing for a while. This accident, it was bad. You were the only one they found alive, you were injured pretty badly. You’re going to have to go through a lot of physical therapy.”

Neymar didn’t respond, instead choosing to look at the wall opposite Leo. He didn’t want to think about this, he didn’t want to think that he could possibly never play again. He was a futbol star, a legend right behind Messi, and he was worth millions. How would his teams cope without him? How would he cope without his career? Obviously, he had the money in order to make sure he could live a comfortable lifestyle while he recovered, but he never thought he would be injured badly enough to have to sit out an entire year. This was like having his back broken all over again. 

Leo was the first to fall asleep during their conversation, snoozing away on a chair that he pulled close to Neymar’s bed. Awake and left with his thoughts, Neymar ended up crying himself to sleep again. Julio, Marie, Nicolás, and Ángel were dead and he was the only one left alive. Marie’s birthday was next week, she was supposed to turn twenty-six, and they were all going to celebrate by having a surprise party for her, complete with a bar and hot tub. Their lives were cut short, they were no longer breathing, no longer thinking, no longer living. Neymar was still alive and why? He did nothing to deserve life. He was an asshole most of the time, he picked fights with people, and got himself in trouble more times than he could count. He couldn’t count how many yellow and red cards he had received on one hand. Nicolás was a saint, Ángel had a three year old at home, and Julio was the most level-headed person he knew besides Messi and Dani. Neymar deserved to suffer for everything he has done since he was a child. He deserved this loss, this pain, and that was the last thought that crossed his mind before he went back to sleep once more.


End file.
